Anger Phase

One afternoon when I was five years old my parents sent me to my room for something I didn’t do. My older sister lied to them, and I couldn’t prove my innocence. I flung myself down on my bed, kicking and screaming and crying over the injustice and betrayal. I hated the other children I heard playing outside. I couldn’t leave the room until I’d apologized and I flat out refused to accept that. I preferred rage to making fake nice. That’s how I feel today.